Five Times Peter Got Treated Like a Little Kid
by The Book Snitch
Summary: and the one time he had to be an adult.
1. Chapter 1: Monopoly

"I swear to God, Peter, if you roll one more snake eyes, I'm going to choke you with that tiny metal cat." It was safe to say that although Tony had made enough financially sound decisions to expand his father's company into a multibillion dollar empire, Monopoly was not something he excelled at.

"I can't help it, Mr. Stark, the dice do what they wanna do - oh my God, I landed on free parking! That's like - "

"That's like enough money to call it a night, kid. We can finish tomorrow," Tony said, drowning out Peter's excitement, and the groans coming from the other players. If you asked Peter, Tony was only trying to end the game because he himself was about two rolls from going bankrupt. If you asked Tony, he'd swear on Bucky's left arm it was because the kid had a Spanish quiz tomorrow. It definitely wasn't because he was about to be humiliated by a sixteen year old who could play monopoly better than the richest businessman in the world.

"No, Mr. Stark, you're just saying that because you know I'm winning! C'mon, just because I beat you to Ventnor Avenue doesn't mean you won't get it next time." Tony raised his eyebrows at Peter, in a way that clearly said you're not helping yourself. Peter tried a different tactic.

"How about this: I'll give you St. Charles place in exchange for thirty more minutes," Peter pleaded. He handed the card out to Tony, and goddammit if Tony didn't want to take the card from him, and try to kick the little punks ass for just a bit longer. Then, he remembered May's disappointed glare when Peter had gotten his last Spanish quiz back, and while that glare might not have scared Peter, it definitely scared him.

"Kid, I promise I'm not trying to con you out of becoming supreme lord of Monopoly. It's just that it's a school night, and it's almost morning. Your aunt won't let you stay over at all if she hears I'm not putting you to bed at a semi-reasonable hour." Tony checked his watch, and the bright numbers flashed back at him. 11:46. God, Tony was getting old. Since when did he consider any time before midnight late? Since when did Tony even get tired?

It didn't look like it mattered how tired or alert Tony was, because Peter had enough energy to compensate for both of them. He and his stupid little metal shoe could run laps around Tony's boat, Steve's car, Clint's iron, Bucky's hat, and Nat's thimble, no matter how many times they tried to trick him into bankruptcy.

"Tony is right, Peter. It's time for bed," said Clint. "Remember, you have to be up at six to make the drive to midtown tomorrow. You're one tardy away from being truant." Of course Clint would be on Tony's side. He was such a dad. Tony briefly entertained the thought that he was just turning into a richer, wittier version of Clint Barton: domesticated father and aging superhero, long past his glory days and just now discovering his astonishing ineptitude at board games. He banished it from his mind, though. Some things were just too scary to think about.

Tony didn't have one remote idea how to parent Peter, he was just stumbling through this whole father figure thing blindly. Clint was always the one reminding him to brush his teeth, and wash his hair, and go to bed at a reasonable hour. Peter never seemed to mind. In fact, the kid almost reveled in being taken care of by any of the Avengers in the compound. Tony knew Peter was starved of that kind of attention - May did her best, but there was only one of her. It made loving and caring for Peter even more intimidating and more important than it already was. Peter's indignation response snapped him back to the situation at hand.

"It's not my fault that I'm always late to school! Steve makes the best pancakes in New York! And Clint, you make the best bacon!" Peter said diplomatically. "I've gotta take my time to appreciate my breakfast, otherwise it would just be a disgrace." Tony knew that if Peter could sweet talk Steve and Clint to his side, they'd overrule him. Peter obviously knew this too, because the kid was lying. Tony knew for a fact that he himself made the best bacon in New York. Peter had told him so yesterday. Damn, the kid was good.

"Peter, what if I told you that I would pack you pancakes in your lunch tomorrow, in exchange for a free pass the next time I hit Boardwalk," Steve said, with a glint in his eye. Peter grinned, clearly thinking he had won.

"No! Rogers, you are not helping. Peter, it's time for bed. Either that, or we can go over Spanish conjugations one last time, your choice." Peter pouted, and Tony felt even worse. Admittedly, the kid was one turn away from kicking Steve, Tony, and Bucky out of the game. He'd even gotten close to knocking Nat out, but it seemed like the moment anyone got distracted, large sums of money would mysteriously disappear from the bank. Steve, who was a terrible banker, was clearly being manipulated into feeding Nat a small fortune underneath the coffee table. She laughed quietly.

"I think you're being overruled, Spiderboy. Lets go, I'm turning in too." Natasha rose from her seat and held her hand out to help Peter, helping him up from the pile of cushions he had managed to stockpile for himself. Tony sent her a grateful smile.

Peter looked around the dimly lit room. Steve was counting his money, and trying to understand where his remaining two hundred dollars had disappeared to. Bucky was laying down next to Steve, having promptly fallen asleep after being told he could stay in jail for three turns. Clint was racing the wheelbarrow and the boat across the board like an eight year old, and Tony looked back at Peter with a wry grin, and mentally took back what he had thought about Clint being the most 'adult' person in the room.

Tony saw Peter's face change as he resigned himself to going to bed. He should've known it would be Nat that finally convinced him. The kid could never say no to her.

"Fine, I concede. But don't think this is over!" Peter said with a new conviction, and Tony knew he was in for it tomorrow night. "After I kick that Spanish test in the ass, I'm going to be back tomorrow to whoop all of your butts at this game, just you wait!" And with that, Nat pulled him out of the room to bed.

Tony sunk back into the couch with a sigh, and Steve sent him a look. Tony glared back at him.

"What, Rogers? Do you have something to say?" Steve just smiled and shook his head.

"No, I just never thought I'd see the day when you'd be sending someone to bed early. You know how much Peters changed you?"

Tony blushed, and didn't meet Steve's eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, Cap."

Steve raised his eyebrows, like this didn't convince him at all. "Okay, sure. The Tony Stark I used to know didn't go to bed until the sun started coming up."

"What was I supposed to do? The kid has a Spanish quiz!"


	2. Chapter 2: Movie Night

"Man, no way! You're gonna get to see _Hereditary_ before me! That's like -" Ned searched for the words to describe the completely indescribable idea that Peter was seriously having _movie night_ with the Avengers. "This is the coolest thing that's ever happened to me. And you. Like, in the history of your internship, this is it. Peter, if it gets too scary, do you think Bruce Banner would let you hold his hand. I wonder what they feel like. I mean, do you think his hands would be soft, or would they be calloused because of the whole Hulk thing.. I mean, does he moisturize, or do they just go from being soft to being killing machines over and over again with no residual rough skin. Also, I wonder if it'll scare them. It's supposed to be like the new _Exorcist_. You should ask the Black Widow if the Exorcist scared her, because if it didn't scare her, then nothing will. I doubt the Avengers ever get scared. This movie is probably like c-list terror for them. Peter, what if _you_ get scared, what are they gonna think of yo -"

"I'm not gonna get scared Ned! Now shut up or he's gonna hold us here after the bell rings, and Happy is going to be way scarier than Hereditary!" Peter whispered-shouted this back to him, exasperatedly. He was starting to think that telling his best friend he was getting to see the year's most anticipated horror movie one week before the premier wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. Ned had been on a never ending word vomit since lunch, imagining every scenario Peter could possibly find himself in, and suggesting more than once that he'd embarrass himself by getting scared. It was starting to get to him.

Ned closed his mouth obediently, but it seemed that just the mention of Peter's personal chauffeur - and if anyone told Happy that was what Ned referred to him as, it really was going to be a shitstorm - managed to excite him even more. He smiled at Peter from his seat, bouncing up and down like a first grader right before recess. Mr. Harrington droned on in the front, and a minute later, the bell rang.

"Alright class, remember what the rule is: no homework means get thirty extra minutes of sleep - that's an official assignment! Have a good weekend!" Mr. Harrington's usual mantra was already being drowned out by the rush of noise that came after the final bell. Peter and Ned were out of class and on the front steps of the school minutes later, searching for the signature black car Happy always drove to pick him up. Peter spotted it a third of the way down the street, partially obscured by a banner from the science team that said _Do Not Trust Atoms, They Make Up Everything_.

"Make sure to tell me everything! I mean don't - wait, should you? Do I want it spoiled, Peter? Maybe just tell me when the jump scares are. Also if anyone is gonna like, spontaneously combust. No! I take it back, don't tell me anything. Except what type of moisturizer Bruce Banner uses, it's crucial information." Peter turned and grinned at him.

"Got it, Ned. No spoilers and no warnings. And I _won't_ get scared," He said. They did their handshake, and then Peter rushed down the steps towards Happy.

The drive back to the compound was mostly uneventful, save Happy's regular complaints about teenagers, Peter in specific, traffic, Peter, Tony's lack of radio stations that didn't feature Metallica, ACDC, or Black Sabbath, and Peter. They had a love hate relationship like that.

The moment they got there, Peter bounded up to the kitchen in search of sustenance. On Fridays, Steve always went to the grocery store to restock the pantry with fruit by the foot and Captain America Doritos. He was also probably still licking his wounds from their game of monopoly last week, and Peter felt he needed to give him a warning before making him watch one of the scariest movies to come out since 1918. That is, if they even had movies in 1918.

Instead, he found Tony scrolling through his tablet with a frown on his face. He looked up as Peter came in, and gave him a look that was reminiscent of when May had found his and Ned's secret stash of candy underneath the dresser when he was nine.

"Hey Pete, how was school?" He said, and Peter knew from his tone of voice that they were about to segue into an unpleasant conversation.

"Pretty uneventful, Mr. Stark. That doesn't look like the face of a man who's excited to watch the most suspenseful movie of the year. Did Steve get the right kind of popcorn? Last time he got the stuff with that butter that coats onto the top of your mouth… ," He trailed off as Tony's face became sterner than it was before. "Did something happen?"

"Well Kid, I was just wondering when you planned on telling me that this movie was rated _R_ \- or did you ever plan on it?" Peter looked dumbfounded. _This _is what the dramatic face was about. Watching an R rated movie?

"What do you mean? Of course it has a high rating, Mr. Stark - it's like A-list horror. What respectable movie trying to scare the living sh- _crap _out of you isn't rated R?" The man looked him in the eyes as if he was about to lay down the law.

"Peter, you're like 12 years old. I'm pretty sure _Bambi _is too traumatic for someone as sensitive as you. You really think I'm going to allow you to watch _Hereditary_? Spontaneous combustion and decapitation are not elements young minds such as your own should be exposed to."

Peter was about to fire back with an itemized list of all the fights Spiderman had been in, where he'd dealt hand to hand with murderers, psychopaths, gunmen, robbers, kidnappers, and god knows what else - although admittedly he'd never seen spontaneous combustion - when someone spoke up from behind him.

"Did I hear someone say _Bambi_? You know, Clint cries every time he sees that movie, no matter how many times he's seen it. Something about the big sad doe eyes really get to him -"

"Hey! It's a sad movie, and I make no apologies for having a conscience. _Hereditary_ on the other hand - that movie is hardcore. I've been mentally preparing myself all day." Clint and Natasha looked like they'd just gotten back from an afternoon run, grabbing water bottles out of the fridge and joining Peter on the barstools.

"See, Mr. Stark! Even Clint wants to watch it! He's been preparing himself all day," Peter said somberly. "Plus, you know for a fact I'm turning seventeen in three weeks. Don't pretend you really don't think I'm old enough for this."

"I'm not pretending! This movie looks way too scary for comfort. You have enough nightmares about legitimate problems, you don't need to be dreaming about getting possessed or being descended from a group of satanic cultists. Hard pass, we're watching something else." Tony looked adamant. He turned to Nat, because she could sweet talk Peter into anything.

"I know you've been waiting to see the movie for awhile Peter, but maybe you just have to wait a little while longer. Let's be honest, Bruce was probably going to get scared anyway, and that would make Steve feel like doing the moral thing and turning it off for them." After Nat said that, Tony looked triumphant.

"Tony just speaks for himself," she went on. "Obviously he's using you to cover up the fact that little girls seeing dead people scares the shit out of him." Natasha smirked. She was getting Tony riled up, an age old tactic that might tease him into letting them see the movie. It wouldn't work, but discreetly, she signed under the table that she had the bootleg downloaded to her laptop. Peter grinned, and thanked God Tony had decided he needed to learn ASL. It was dead useful for overcoming the audible sensory overload his powers sometimes gave him, when all of his senses were dialed up to eleven. It also functioned as his own secret language - one only he, Nat, and Clint could speak.

"Fine then, Mr. Stark. If you're too scared to watch _Hereditary_, I understand. Maybe someday when you're older, you'll be ready. For now we can watch something childish, so you all don't get scared. Maybe not Bambi though," he said with a glance at Clint. Clint gave him a not so discreet hand gesture that you didn't need ASL to interpret.

And that was how he found himself on the couch of the Avengers compound, under three blankets and balancing a second bowl of the _good _kind of popcorn between him and Wanda, listening to a man with a wax mustache and a perm sing on about the pirates' life. It was no spontaneous combustion, but he thought he would live, as long as Sam decided not to call him Peter Pan Jr. for the rest of the weekend.

**Oh my god, I'm glad so many people liked the first chapter. Please please please drop a review, it would mean the world! And thank you so much for all the follows!**


	3. Chapter 3: Grocery Shopping

Peter was hungry. Like _super_ hungry. Like _I don't know who ate the last pack of gushers but whoever it was you're dead_ hungry. The pantry was bare, the fridge was bare, and no, Tony, a block of two month old manchego, an apple, and five billion different sauces cannot possibly be turned into a real, nutritious meal.

Granted, the compound brought in cooks for dinner most of the time, and this meant there were usually delicious leftovers in the fridge to sustain them, but they didn't compensate for the incessant needs of a chemically enhanced sixteen-year-old boy. A three course meal with a salmon filet scheduled at eight o'clock didn't change the fact that Peter was hungry _right now_, and after a lot of pestering and a little bit of bribery, Peter finally convinced someone to take him shopping. At least, that's how he found himself strolling through the never ending maze of Whole Foods with Captain America and the Winter Soldier.

Let him rephrase that. Steve and Bucky were strolling. Peter was riding, because what socially acceptable teenager doesn't ride on the back of the shopping cart when they go to the grocery store. It would be like refraining from popping bubble wrap when it came in the mail, or poking holes in the plastic around the soda packs that Tony always bought. Riding on the back of the shopping cart was a societal obligation.

Except that Peter didn't account for the fact that he had a significantly larger muscle mass than he used to. In fact, he denied it. It wasn't him that got bigger, it was the cart that got smaller. Whatever the truth was, when Peter stepped onto the back of the shopping cart to fly down the canned foods aisle like an assassin on a rampage (and okay, maybe he was mimicking Clint's concentration face, but that's only because it was _hilarious_) the cart decidedly did not agree with him.

"Ow, shit," he cursed as the cart fell, and inevitably, before he could even pick himself up off of the floor, he heard Steve's unmistakable voice from the aisle right next to him.

"Language!"

Of course. All he wanted was to ride the back of the grocery cart, and suddenly he's being scolded by a 100 year-old grandpa in a star spangled onesie for his bad mouth.

"Peter, you had one job. One. How did you manage to hurt yourself while trying to find discounted chicken noodle soup?" Steve was in his aisle now, helping him up from the floor. Damn his superhuman superspeed.

"We already have soup, we don't need more! And why do I have to get the cheap stuff anyway, don't we live with a billionaire?" Peter shot back. Steve gave an exasperated sigh.

"Okay, for one thing, ramen noodles do not count as real soup. And for the last time: the fact that Tony's a billionaire is irrelevant. It's just not polite. You can't - wait, were you trying to ride on the back of a shopping cart?" The beginning of Steve's impassioned rant on his cheap shopping habits was cut short.

That's when it happened. That's when a switch flipped. Suddenly, Steve wasn't someone who scolded Peter's language, or reminded him to take second helpings at dinner when he hadn't eaten for awhile. He wasn't the guy who 'checked' his homework despite not knowing what the hell it was talking about, or the guy who insisted on pulling out chairs for ladies and taking off hats when they enter the room. He had a look in his eye that reminded him of - well, him. Peter didn't know what to say, exceptL

"Well, yeah. I didn't think about being too heavy for the cart." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Steve must have been giving off some type of telepathic signal though, because Bucky was in their aisle seconds later, with the same expression on his face.

"Did I just hear what I think I heard, kid?" Now Peter was really confused, because nobody got this excited about shopping cart rides except for teenage boys, and they definitely weren't teenage boys anymore. But then Peter thought about it. Weren't they? Weren't they drafted when they were just a little bit older than Peter was now? And how soon after that did the whole going into the ice fiasco happen? Peter wasn't a scholar on the origins of Captain American, but it wasn't as if he lived to be a ripe old age before the crash.' They might technically be 100 years old, but did they ever really get to be kids?

So say what you will about Steve Rogers being old fashioned, and about Bucky Barnes never cracking a smile, but there Peter was, standing in an aisle of Whole Foods, with one Winter Soldier, one Captain America, three shopping carts, a lot of free space, and a hundred years worth of pent up childlike energy.

"Hey Buck," Steve said, turning his grin on his best friend. "You remember that day in the summer, when we went to Mr. Gambon's Grocery to get flour for your mom -"

"And we rode the carts -"

"And the flour -"

"Oh my God -"

"It went _everywhere_," they said in unison.

Suffice to say, two minutes later they rode the _hell_ out of those carts. Straight through the produce section, into the bakery, down the frozen goods, and circling around the dairy to do it all again. Around and around they went, until on their third lap around the store, whooping and yelling, and cheering on Bucky because he had just officially won the unspoken _who can pop the best wheelie_ competition, they ran right smack dab into the manager. Apparently, when you get multiple confused eyewitness accounts saying that Captain America, the Winter Soldier, and a sixteen year old boy with no regard for taking precautions in the fresh produce section flew by them on the back of some grocery carts, it's cause for investigation.

And maybe Peter was still hungry, but now he was sure about the fact that Steve and Bucky had been kids one time, a _long_ time ago. And Peter couldn't fix everything, but after being escorted out and banned indefinitely from the local whole foods, he could confidently say that riding on the back of shopping carts was an adolescent obligation that would _never_ go out of style. Not if they could help it.


	4. Chapter 4: Birthday

"Mr. Stark, can we please not do this. Like, pretty please? I'll do anything, but really it's unnecessary," Peter begged. You wouldn't think someone could be capable of fighting off five real live villains straight out of Grand Theft Auto while simultaneously throwing a minor temper tantrum (that's what Tony liked to call it) at someone over the phone, but it turns out anything is possible when you put your mind to it.

_Or not_, Peter thought as a bullet grazed his side and he felt the telltale sting of an open wound where his suit had been ripped apart. He hissed in pain.

"That isn't the type of sound a responsible seventeen year old makes when he's being a smart crime fighting spider, Peter. Are you sure you don't want backup?" Tony said, a little image of his face showing up in the top left hand corner of Peter's mask.

"I'm fine Mr. Stark, just a little distracted. Besides, I'm not even seventeen yet, let up a little." He took a deep breath and flipped backwards, narrowly avoiding ripping a hole in the middle of his torso. He shot out another web and snatched the weapon from the guy's hands.

"Oh, yeah? Well you're going to be seventeen in three hours, and if you're not back before then, you probably won't live to see eighteen at all. This curfew is no joke, young man." Peter could see Tony's eyebrows lifting and his face angling downward, as if he was scolding a small child for staying up past his bedtime. The way Tony saw it, he was scolding a small child up past his bedtime. It was what Clint liked to call his Disappointed Dad Face.

"Mr. Stark, I promise I'll be home before curfew every night for the rest of the year, just please don't make a big deal out of tomorrow. It's like the opposite of a big deal. There's no deal at all, in fact. It's just a normal day." Peter finally managed to snag the last guy, by webbing him to one of the cars he had been trying to steal. In hindsight, trying to stop car thieves from stealing cars, but then ruining said car's paint job with webbing while in the process of apprehending the car thieves might have defeated the purpose of saving the cars. That hurt his brain to think about though, and Peter decided not to dwell on it.

"Kid, it is a big deal, and we're going to celebrate. Speaking of," Peter heard Tony on the other end, talking to someone else. "Steve, I'm gonna need three funfetti cakes from that Whole Foods near us, and a couple other things - I'll make you a list."

There was muffled noise on the other end of the line. This is when Peter knew he was in for it, whether he made it home on time or not. Tony kept speaking on the other end.

"What do you mean you can't go get the cake? Why the hell not? This is an important part of the traditional American birthday, Rogers. They had funfetti cake in the 1940s, right?"

There was more noise, and he was suddenly very glad he was anyone but Steve Rogers right now. Peter had no desire to explain to Tony why Captain America was indefinitely banned from whole foods: for trying to pop a wheelie on a shopping cart in the baked goods section, and then subsequently knocking _down_ the baked goods section. Suffice to say, someone else would have to pick up the cake.

"You know what, we'll talk about this later. Anyway Peter, isn't seventeen a monumental year for kids these days," Tony said.

"No! Mr. Stark, seventeen is like the most irrelevant year ever. Name one thing you get to do when you're seventeen. I'm not a legal adult yet, and I can already drive." Tony's response was almost immediate, and Peter knew he had been waiting to do this for a long time before the question had been asked.

"I beg to differ, kid. You're the dancing queen this year! Celebrate it! In fact, Karen, can you play that audio file I had FRIDAY send your way a couple days ago?" Tony asked through the phone.

"Sure thing, Mr. Stark," she responded. Before Peter could so much as tell her she was a traitor, the song started playing through his mask's speakers.

"C'mon Pete, sing it. I know you know the lyrics. Here, I'll start." And that's how Peter found himself swinging back to the compound that night, listening to Iron Man himself croon along to the lyrics of Dancing Queen.

He approached the compound from the same direction he usually did, and spotted his bedroom window open how he had left it. Sure enough, the moment he was back in his room, the song played through the surround sound system.

"Mr. Stark," he said, knowing that wherever Tony was, he could hear what Peter was saying, "I know you're pretty old, and you feel a compulsive need to listen to old people music, but even so, I never pegged for an ABBA type of guy."

"Shut up punk. Just because I'm not an ABBA guy doesn't mean I don't respect them. You, on the other hand, do not have a healthy respect for your elders, and right now your elder is telling you to go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"Wait, Mr. Stark! How do I turn the music off?" Peter yelled at the ceiling.

"It's programmed to sing you to sleep, kid. The music turns off when you do. I think I'm going to call it the Lullaby Regimen." And with that, the call ended, and Peter knew that whatever Tony had in store for his birthday, it could not possibly be worse than the endless repetition of _having the time of your life, see that girl, watch that scene, digging the dancing queen._

Peter's request that his birthday be inexpensive - as in no professional chefs, no excessive gifts, no celebrity appearances, no live music, and no guest list exceeding that of fifteen people - had at least been respected. However, this meant that Tony had to do it the hard way, and not pay people to do it for him. Of course, Peter hadn't actually given him all of these instructions until one day before, so this meant he had to cancel on the caterers, the new car, the Dean of Science at MIT, and The Who.

In the process of planning a birthday party, one must take into account the interests and hobbies of the birthday boy. In Peter's case, it could be legos, it could be chemistry, it could be Thai food, it could be literally anything having to do with Star Wars, Star Trek, and the whole plethora of science fiction movies that Peter had been watching religiously since he was 7.

He should have known that Tony had a compulsive need to always, always hit the nail right on the head, though, because when he sat down at the table and Steve handed him a paper plate emblazoned with _his _face on it, Spiderman's face, covered in syrup and pancakes, Peter knew he had underestimated him.

His napkin was Spiderman, the tablecloth was Spiderman, and upon further inspection, Steve's apron was decorated with spider webs, covered in batter, and occupied by one Captain America, smiling like this was the funniest thing to happen since stand up comedy had become popular.

"Good morning, Underoos! Is this cheap enough for you? I had a real tough time deciding between this and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but I figured you would appreciate this the most." Tony looked at Peter with a bigger smirk than he thought had ever existed on the face of the planet, and reached behind him.

Suddenly, a small party hat was being strapped onto Peter's head, and every single Avenger in the compound popped into existence before his eyes. Clint came out of the air vents, as per usual. Bucky and Sam both popped up behind the counter, where they were sitting at Steve's feet. Wanda appeared from behind a huge houseplant that seemed to have been manipulated into covering more than it should physically be able to, and Vision came right out of the wall, because, well, he's Vision. Natasha came from God knows where, and Peter suspected he'd never find out, and Bruce just walked in the exact same door Peter had, as if this was all a big surprise to him too.

"Happy birthday!" They all yelled, throwing confetti at him and blowing into their Spiderman noise makers. Peter noted that along with a terrible screeching noise, a little strand of fake webbing also came out of the noisemakers, as if it was a bona fide web shooter. Little red and blue pieces of paper drifted through the air, onto Peter's hair, into Peter's syrup, and all over the small semblance of hope Peter had that Tony would just forget it was his birthday at all, and treat him like he always did

"C'mon spidey, the day hasn't even started. Don't look so miserable yet," Natasha said, picking confetti out of his hair and loading pancakes onto her plate at the same time.

"Did you commission spiderman party gear just for my birthday? Because I know you didn't find this at a local grocery store." Peter said, shooting a glare at Tony.

"I swear to God, kid, hand on my heart, that I did not ask for this to be made for you. I was down in Queens, paying a visit to Aunt May, I wandered into a store, and these were sitting in the party section. I hate to break it to you, but you're on paper plates now. Next thing you know, it's cereal boxes. When Ben and Jerry's names a flavor after you, though, you'll know you're as high as you're ever going to get."

"Mr. Stark, I don't believe you. People are not putting me on…" Peter trailed off, looking in awe at all the spiderman decorations in the kitchen. "... tablecloths. I can't believe _Spiderman_ is famous enough to be on tablecloths."

Steve dropped a hand onto his shoulder and shot him his trademark smile. "Get used to it, kid. You're a hero."

"And as a hero, it's critical that we celebrate all your big accomplishments - _including_ turning seventeen. So dig into your patriotic pancakes, there's more when you're done!" Tony seemed ridiculously pleased with himself, and Peter couldn't help but grin at everyone surrounding him. This wasn't so bad, after all. Vision turned to him from the other side of Natasha, and Peter sensed an informational spiel coming on.

"I have been informed that in the event of one's anniversary of birth, many rituals occur, such as: the beating of the pinata, an object that originated in…." Whatever else Vision was about to rattle off was lost to the sound of Dancing Queen playing on the speakers overhead, and some more confetti drifted down into his syrup as the rest of the team serenaded him. Peter smiled, and sang along.

* * *

**I'm so sorry I didn't update sooner! I know this is sort of crappy, but I wanted to get it up quickly, and I didn't really proofread thoroughly. Thanks so much for all your sweet reviews and follows. Please, if you want me to write about something, I'll do it, just send it in!**


	5. Chapter 5: Science Fair

Peter was starting to wonder how had managed to find himself in this situation again - pleading with Mr. Stark over the phone to _not _do something, and Mr. Stark decidedly doing it anyway. It was becoming too common for comfort. Nevertheless, he squeezed the phone tighter to his ear with his shoulder, and continued pleading.

"Mr. Stark, I really appreciate it, but you don't have to go to all that trouble-"

Peter was also starting to wonder when he got so used to being cut off mid-sentence, because when Tony inevitably did it, Peter was not surprised.

"Kid, what have I told you? It's not any trouble if I _want_ to do it."

"But won't you be a little bit, uh, conspicuous? It'll be kind of hard to hide six of the most recognizable faces on the planet at a science fair populated by nerds. Nerds that have probably had your photos on their wall since they were ten." It was undeniably true that Peter and Ned were not the only superhero fans at their highschool. Not by a longshot.

"C'mon kid, now you're just making up excuses. I'm a professional at this point. I know what this is. You're embarrassed," Tony said, with that all knowing tone of voice he got when he knew he had figured someone out.

"What? No, no, no, I am not embarrassed," He squeaked back. When had his voice risen by 3 octaves? He gave a violent tug to the part he was trying to pull out of the machine in his mechanics class. It didn't budge. "You've got it all wrong, it's just that I-"

"Yes, you are! You're embarrassed! You don't wanna be the kid with way too many relatives fawning over their probably-shitty science fair project. I was a teenager at a science fair too, once. Trust me kid, it's better to have people there."

"Mr. Stark, I am not embarrassed! You've got it wrong. Look, I really appreciate that you wanna come see my work. Really, I do. It's just…" His voice cracked. "It's just that I've never had people there before, okay? Other kids do. And yeah, sometimes they don't like it when their parents make a big deal out of it… but at least they had parents. May comes to school stuff sometimes, when she doesn't have work, but I hate asking her to take time out of her schedule. And if I didn't have a bunch of relatives then, why should I now? It won't make sense," he finished, with a defeated sigh.

He heard Mr. Stark go quiet on the other side of the phone. Peter knew he had messed it up now. He'd shoved on too much baggage. This would be a great time for Tony to turn around and run. Find another protégé that didn't get scared at the idea of having someone other than his Aunt May come to his science fair. Someone that wasn't constantly afraid he'd lose everyone that he'd gained. What he'd said was true. It wouldn't make any sense for poor, parentless Peter Parker to suddenly have a whole arsenal of people visiting his booth at the science fair like they'd been there all along. There'd be questions.

And yet, the inside of him was screaming for them to come. The part of him that was starved of affection, and support, and of a family. He knew the real reason he was afraid.. What if Mr. Stark found out that there was nothing special about him? What if he showed up, expecting another mind-boggling invention, something on par with his web-serum, or the Iron Man suit, and realized that Spiderman was just a little kid with attachment issues and slightly above average intelligence.

Peter snapped out of it when Tony spoke up. And Tony sounded angry.

"You know what, Peter? Your life's not like that anymore. Okay? Goddammit, you're gonna have your family there at the science fair. And we're gonna take embarrassing photos, and we're gonna introduce ourselves to your teachers, and dish a bunch of _embarrassing _stories to your friends. We're gonna tell you that whatever you cooked up is way greater than it really is, because that's what families do, and then we're all gonna go out to dinner afterwards. And if people ask questions, I don't care! I'm coming, whether you like it or not. And I'm gonna be proud of you, whether you like it or not. So get used to it, kid."

And with that, he hung up the phone.

He was sweating through his periodic table shirt when they finally got there. His aunt had, predictably, needed to stay late at work and cover someone's shift, but she'd be there soon. Ned's parents had cycled through, complementing his project, and then rushing off to Ned's shining face in the section of the room for architectural based experiments. His had something to do with legos, but beyond that, Peter wasn't really sure.

For the first time in his life, Peter felt a modicum of sympathy for Flash. He was over in the corner, and no one was taking a second glance at his project. Peter had seen his butler drop him off, and Flash had had no relatives to speak of since then. At least Peter knew that May was killing herself to get here, and that soon enough he'd have half of the Avengers to come ooh and ahh over his invention.

First came Bruce. He was usually the most unsuspecting Avenger, because the face he was most recognizable by only came out every once in a while. However, the students at Midtown School of Science and Technology were far more likely to recognize Bruce Banner, renowned biochemist and nuclear physicist, then they were to recognize Natasha Romanoff, master assassin and spy - no matter how famous she was.

He was wearing jeans and a science t-shirt, just like Peter was. It said 'The physics is theoretical, but the fun is real'. Peter laughed out loud when he saw him, and Bruce shuffled over, pulling his cap over his face.

"Am I early?" Bruce always managed to sound a little uncomfortable and nervous, no matter what the situation was. Peter was used to it, and it put him at ease to know that he wasn't the only nervous one here. Especially since this was an enclosed, unfamiliar space, with a lot of people in it, and Peter knew what a big deal it was that he came.

"Just a little. Tony said he'd be here in ten minutes. Did you come here by yourself, or-"

"Did you do this? This is incredible." Bruce had already stopped paying attention to Peter. He was looking at the table behind them.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish and a little excited. He'd done his project as a surprise for Tony, but Bruce would love it too. It was something they'd been working on for a long time, and not even Tony and Bruce had figured it out. Admittedly, they'd had bigger things to focus on, and this had always been a side project - Peter was sure they both could have done this in a week if they really tried - but it had taken months for Peter to figure it out, and he'd devoted all his time at the lab to cracking it.

His most common problem was getting hurt on a patrol, and then needing to swing back to the apartment - or worse, the compound - with a gaping wound, or a dislocated shoulder. With what he'd created, his webbing could be used as a healing salve as well, and it would prevent infection. It was almost like neosporin and a bandaid rolled into one, except if you multiplied the effect by one hundred. Peter knew it might save his life, if he ever got into a really tough situation.

"Oh my God, Peter. You figured it out! This is amazing. Tony's gonna be so proud. _I'm_ so proud." Bruce turned to look at him, and Peter's grin split his face in half. He was already proud of himself, but having the extra validation was better than he had ever dreamed it would be.

"Well, I'm sure you could've done it if you tried. It took me a long time-"

"No, Peter. Don't try and downplay it. This will change your life." A small, snarky part of Peter's head noted that this was about the fifth time he'd been cut off that day, but it was almost like he enjoyed it more every time. First Tony's monologue about how they were gonna act like a family, and now Bruce's sheer excitement at what he'd managed to create. This was shaping up to be a perfect day.

"Who's life is changing?"A familiar voice sounded from behind them. Peter turned and saw Steve and Natasha in their civilian clothes, emerging from a throng of parents. It was Natasha who had spoken. Steve was busy looking around in awe at all the different booths around them. It had been years, but sometimes such obvious displays of technology and modernity still managed to sweep him off his feet.

"Tell them Peter. Nat, you won't believe this."

And so Peter geeked out on them. He told Captain America, Black Widow, and the Hulk every single excruciating detail of his project. He told them about the failed attempts, the trial runs (which had involved lots of poorly treated injuries, and a couple of infections), and all the little complexities and facts that went into it. He told them what he had learned, what he could still do, all the different ways he could use it.

Obviously, he completely and utterly lost Nat and Steve after approximately ten seconds. They didn't understand a word he said. But, to their everlasting credit, they sat there and listened to everything, and made politely interested and sometimes incredibly confused faces the whole time. They were totally humoring him, and oddly enough, it made Peter feel even better, because it meant that they _really _cared. They cared enough to fake caring. Bruce, for his part, was completely enraptured by it. He listened to Peter talk with fascination, asked questions every couple sentences, and made impressed noises in all the right places. Peter was willing to bet you'd never meet a happier little nerd than he was at that very moment.

And then, of course, with great pomp and circumstance, a huge swarm of adolescent geniuses, a couple photographs, and absolutely no attempt at disguise whatsoever, in walked Tony Stark. Peter's jaw dropped. Why had he just assumed Tony would try and hide the fact that he was _Tony freaking Stark_? It wasn't like it would be great publicity to be seen at a Midtown highschool science fair. Then again, hadn't Tony given every indication that he was going to act as embarrassing and dad-like as possible. Peter needed to stop acting surprised.

He walked over, giving Peter the biggest grin he'd ever seen.

"Hey kiddo. Sorry I'm late, I picked up your aunt on the way."

Aunt May peeked out from behind Tony. Peter hadn't even noticed her with all the people that had immediately flocked to Iron Man upon his entrance. She gave him a conspiratorial look, like _can you believe this?_ He smiled even wider.

"No, no, it's fine. I'm just glad you came!" Peter said, giving Tony a hug. It was short lived, though.

"Well, scoot over, dork. I want to see your super secretive, subpar high school science project." Peter moved, and let Tony see the display. He barely got a word out before Bruce started speaking for him.

"Tony, what he did is incredible. He's been working on it for months. Remember when we tried to figure it out, and kinda gave up? Remember that time Clint almost died before we could get him to the jet, or the time Nat almost sliced her arm off, and there was nothing we could do because we were in the middle of a fight? This could fix all of that. It could-"

"Okay, Bruce. Shut up for a second. I want Peter to tell me about it." Tony turned to look at Peter, and he could tell by Tony's expression that he had already figured it out, that he was already proud, and that no matter how quickly his brain had managed to understand the project, he wanted to hear Peter tell him everything about it. So Peter started all over again, just for him.

"Holy shit, kid. You might've just saved your own life ten times over with this. And Clint and Nat's. And some random civilian's. And basically anyone that doesn't have a bulletproof suit around them." He was reading the research paper that Peter had attached to the work (seventeen pages, thank you very much), while listening to Peter talk. Tony raised his eyebrows when Peter got to the part about testing out the webbing.

"You mean to tell me that two months ago you had a hole ripped into your torso, and instead of going immediately to the hospital, you prevented Karen from calling me, and then sprayed some prototype webbing into your body cavity and hoped it would work?"

"Well, yeah, but that wasn't even my first test. Or my last. I got a nasty infection from that, but the nice ladies at the compound clinic helped me fix it, and they didn't tell…" He trailed off at Tony's amused face. "I mean, I thought about doing that. But I didn't! Because that would be highly irresponsible, and against the rules. And I don't even know the nurses at the clinic, I never get hurt."

They both started laughing, and Tony pulled him in for another hug. It was tight, and Peter knew everyone in the room was watching, and he hadn't felt this loved in a long time.

"I am so, so proud of you, kid," Tony whispered. Peter hugged him tighter.

He spend the rest of the night loudly telling anyone who would listen (which was everyone) that Peter was the best and brightest intern in all of Stark Industries, that he was looking at a wildly successful career in the future, and that he'd be writing a strong recommendation to the dean of MIT - which no one forgot, because Peter was a junior, and college was just about all anyone talked about now. He introduced himself to every one of Peter's teachers, as if they didn't already know his name, and showered compliments left and right, while Peter shuffled along behind him, blushing harder than ever, and pretending that it wasn't that big of a deal.

It was, easily, the biggest deal ever to Peter, but Tony didn't need to know that.


End file.
